


The benefit of failure

by MmArgent



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anxiety, Depression, Developing Relationship, F/F, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-04-20 00:03:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14248725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MmArgent/pseuds/MmArgent
Summary: It was a strange feeling, knowing that her brother had tried to kill himself. Again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I swear is not going to be as sad as this really short first chapter. Hopefully. Anyway, english is not my first language so if you guys see any kind of mistake or have any advice for me, just let me know.

It was not the first time it had happened. There had been missing pills and a call at midnight from the police, a cold bench with a colder body. She hadn´t seen Connor that night, just her parents rushing out of the house, coats thrown and the front door slammed, leaving her in the darkness, alone.

Zoe waited awake. She knew the drill. Her parents will be screaming about Connor, blame thrown to both side, comments about how they should lower their voices, to not wake her. She tended to laugh at that, as if they hadn´t practically condition her to wake up at the slightest noise. For what she could recollect from the voices downstairs, they had found him, miraculously not too late, because some kid tipped the police about a teenager collapsed, staying with her brother while she had been there, in the house, rolling her eyes about Connor´s antics, agreeing with her dad that he was high somewhere and that he would sneak sometime in the morning, claiming he couldn´t make it to his first day of senior year.

It was a strange feeling, knowing that her brother had tried to kill himself. Again. That Connor was in the hospital instead of the room next door. That he saw everything around him and decided it wasn´t worthy. Zoe wasn´t enough for him and she knew it, long before this failed attempt, but in the back of her skull, the part where they were siblings and she was playing the part of the little sister instead of the guard, she felt disappointed, sad and angry that Connor didn´t see her, that didn´t want to stay, that he would leave her all by herself. That small part wanted to creak the door open and stumble into his room, to assure that he was there and breathing, even when he wasn´t. It was illogical. It made no sense to feel bad about him, with the way he treated her.

If Zoe wasn´t enough for Connor to stay, Connor shouldn´t be enough to affect her this much.

Turning in her bed with the resolution of falling asleep and stop thinking about this day at all, the noise downstairs echoed easily back to her. There was something strained about the shouts, about the way her parents seemed more on edge, about how their voices trembled and sounded soft around the crude remarks. A note hitting the perfect tone and Zoe realized why.

_Larry! Look at me! We weren´t even looking for him. We almost lost him! A minute too late and he would be actually gone. WE WOULD BE PAYING A FUNERAL INSTEAD OF HOSPITAL BED, FOR GODSAKE._

Hugging her knees in the dark room, she let herself cry, the sound muted against the pillows. It´s choking her, the air refusing to reach her lungs, her frame shaking with every sob, her knuckles white around the pillow. The image of Connor in some park bench, in the dark, chocking and trembling because he had been dying, grasping at air, alone. Oh, God, that was the worst of all. He had gone to die in some nameless park, where they wouldn´t find him, where they hadn´t even tried to look for him. It hurts. It burns. The pain in her chest spreads and she wonders if her ragged breathing is just a pale imitation of what would have been his last moments. She hugs the pillow, feeling cold under the covers, imaging the solid metal of a bench digging in her skin.

She doesn´t remember falling asleep, but when she walks into Connor´s room, Zoe can tell that the nightmare is not going away.

A cycle, like so many times before, is about to start spinning.

Zoe Murphy decides that morning, with the dawn just breaking and barefoot, that even if destiny is dealing her all the wrong cards, she is going to change the game. She is going to make a victory out of a failure. Let the tears that mark her cheeks be war paint, because this is not a battle she is going to walk away from.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe that´s why her backpack felt a little too heavy on the right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to update this as fast as I could, which might have lead to some mistakes so if any of you catches one, please tell me. Also, is close to midnight here so I hope this chapter is not a little too over the place. The next chapter might take longer, since I am expecting it to be a bit longer than these first two, so that was just a heads up. Hope you guys like it!

Alana was sure she was missing something. No matter how many times she had checked her backpack the night before, the weight of it on her shoulders felt strange, slightly unbalanced. Too much to the right. It was going to bother her all day long and that was the last thing she needed on the first day of school. She had too much to do, all the events pilling in her head and the list will go unchecked because her freaking backpack was not the way it was supposed to be.

“This is so stupid.” Alana murmured to the room before taking the backpack off and throwing all its contents on her purple comforter.

Eyeing the clock, she had at least half an hour until school started. Pushing the books and papers, Alana sat against the headboard, starting by emptying the small pockets that had been closed when she had thrown all her stuff in the bed. It was almost mechanical, the action a repetition of yesterday, putting back the essential once again, which was everything that had already been inside. Frustration kept raising with every item, the whole process foolish to her eyes now.

The buzz of her phone in the nightstand reminded her that reality existed outside arranging the pile of color coded post-it notes so they wouldn´t wrinkle. Sighing, Alana took the phone from the charger and unblocked it, her brow furrowing when she realized the messages were from the night before, all arriving at the same time, making it impossible for her to follow as they appeared.

It all clicked in her head when she recalled that the internet connection had gone down out of nowhere around 10pm, cutting her conversation in the middle of it. She had asked her dad when he thought it was coming back when he was calling the company, but he had told her that it probably wouldn´t restart until the next day so she had decided to call it a night. Scrolling up in the chat, Alana cursed with the phone still buzzing in her hand, trying to catch the part of the conversation where she had left. A small message popped in the middle of the screen, asking for permission to close the app or if she preferred to wait. Seeing the small parts of text behind it, Alana figured out that none of the options will let her read as fast as she needed. Her phone froze, no longer buzzing, not doing anything no matter what she pressed.

She hadn´t read the whole conversation, but it was enough to make her panic. After forcing her phone to turn off, Alana shoved the rest of her things inside her backpack, hanging it from one of her shoulders while she rushed downstairs, her ponytail getting trapped when she tried to accommodate her other arm in the loop of her bag. Yanking her hair free and shouting at her family that she had to go somewhere before school, Alana ran outside her house, taking a few seconds to turn her phone back on, seeing how it decided to update in that precise moment.

“You got to be kidding me.”

Taking her bike without minding her dress, Alana secured her phone inside her jacket and started pedaling, avoiding cars and people alike, moving as fast as she could. She was probably overreacting, as she was prone to do. The messages hadn´t even loaded completely, after all. It was a storm inside a glass of water, for sure. No need for her to be this frantic.

Even so, logical thinking tends to be useless when alarms are blaring inside your head and the only certainty you have is the weight in your shoulders, the pressure around the handle of a used bike and the wind hitting you in the face.

As soon as Alana recognized the neighborhood, she forced herself to breathe as she has being taught and reduce the speed. If she had puzzled this right, two or more people being hopelessly worried would not help. She needed to help. If this wasn´t a fake alarm, which it could still be, she would need to apologize and offer to buy breakfast or something. Food. She had forgotten to eat when she had left the house and now the idea of eating was back it her head, making her stomach growl. She was sure she wasn´t going to be able to eat until she cleared this up, thought. Her head wouldn´t let her.

The house was quiet when she finally reach it. Hopping down the bike, Alana checked her phone, the screen finally flashing the time and the amount of messages she had left unread. The possibility of no one being home since school was going to start in the next 12 minutes was there, but she would be mad at herself if she at least didn´t try.

Reaching the door, Alana knocked and waited, pulling her jacket closer to herself.

After a few minutes, the door was thrown open and all hope that this was just a miscommunication issue clattered to the floor alongside her bike.

“What happened?” Her words came out in a whisper, like another one of their secret being shared. “Is your mom home?”

Evan shook his head, eyes shining and his entire frame trembling before taking her wrist and pulling her inside, making Alana stumble for a second. She could see his cast in the other arm, Connor´s name big enough to overshadow hers. They had joked about how the school would react and made senseless bets on whenever people would notice or not, if rumors would spread with crazy stories about the three of them. Connor had said people would assume he had broken Evan´s arm and signed the cast as a warning to anyone who might bother him. Evan had said that no one would notice apart from Jared and then a whole other theory about how Alana had roped the two of them into some kind of project. Alana herself had said that at least one person would start a rumor about romantic escapes gone wrong. Now, she was directed towards the sofa, the space in her left side empty.

Maybe that´s why her backpack felt a little too heavy on the right.

Before Evan could take his hand away and retreat to his side of the sofa, Alana tugged him, silently urging him to stay close. She knew Evan wouldn´t be able to explain it to her, not with the way he was breathing and shaking, but she needed someone next to her. Knowing Evan, he did too. Letting her hand clasp his and squeezing to reassure them both, Alana took out her phone and started reading.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now, without neither of them close, Evan was sure he was the punch line instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, I got ill and midterms in my university never stop once they have started. I wish the chapter was longer since I promised it was going to be, sorry about that. I hope you guys enjoy it!

Contrary to popular belief, Evan knew he was bouncing his leg. The jittery movement made his whole desk shake, after all, making it hard to miss. He was also aware of how annoying it was but that didn’t mean he could stop. He wanted to, but when he had tried last time, he had just started tapping his pen in the edge of the desk instead.

The chatter in the classroom should have been enough to make it impossible to hear anything beyond the voices around, retelling of summers and new gossip spreading quicker that any plan lesson would. A big part of the chairs were empty, some students didn’t bother to come back until the second week and another part couldn’t care less about whatever was said in the first day of school. All of this should have make him less watched, and yet, his leg kept bouncing and his eyes darting around the room.

It was a comical thought, which was not funny at all when talked out loud, how someone who convinced themselves that they were invisible, that no one cared about their existence, could feel on edge all the time, feeling prying eyes with every move they took. No one saw, yet everyone judged.

Except maybe Jared, Jared did see him. And mock him. But also stayed, kind of. Could being told by your parents to socialize with the same kid count as loyalty? Or was it like being blackmailed by your own family? Jared did treat it like it was an obligation, but Evan had to live with Evan, so he understood the feeling. Also, he could always tell Evan to lie or to not say anything to their parents and Evan probably would, so maybe Jared did enjoy spending time with him. Subconsciously. Somewhere there. Maybe he was just lonely and Evan was the next best thing. The possibility of Jared knowing the probability of Evan messing up with a lie could also account on why he was actually doing it. It could be that it was hilarious for Jared to see him stammer his way through their conversations or that he wanted someone who wouldn't fight back when made fun of. He sure did had a laugh of how nervous Evan was this morning, with all the jabs at his broken arm and the names on it did nothing but fuel him, convoluted theory after convoluted theory. Plus, he hadn´t even signed Evan's cast, which he didn’t have to, but it would have be-

The ring of the bell made him jump in his seat, looking around to check that no one had seen him and feeling his cheeks warming up when he heard giggles from the other side of the room. After shoving everything he owned as quickly as he could in his backpack, Evan stood up and walked as fast as he dared, avoiding people and cringing when someone jostled his arm.

He hadn’t seen Connor today, which shouldn’t been worrying since he had a tendency to skip classes whenever he felt like it, but they had had a fight the night before and he hadn’t  answered to any of his apology texts in the morning. He hadn’t expect to talk to him or anything but the fact that he wasn’t at school made the guilt settle in his stomach, a weight that was nearly paralyzing. Of course he had managed to burn the bridge without even crossing it. He had most likely set it aflame while standing on it.

Evan caught Alana’s eye in the hallway, seeing her chatting with another student from the student council who seemed more interested in his phone that in the conversation. A small shake of her head in his direction and the minimal hope he had disappeared. Connor hadn’t contacted her either.

He turned around to walk to his locker, mind set in picking his books so he could bear the last hours of class and have enough time to write his letter for the therapy session.

 

_Dear Evan Hansen_

_It turns out, this wasn’t an amazing day after all. This isn’t going to be an amazing week or an amazing ye-_

 

He was on the floor, his injured arm hurting when it tried to break his fall.

Falling. Was that going to be a tendency from now on?

Shaking his head, he looked up to, cringing a bit while shifting the weight to his other arm to be able to stand up.

“-o sorry. I didn’t see where I was going. Do you need a hand?” Zoe’s hand was extended towards him, a mirror image of the scenario he painted in his head after the last band concert the school had.

Only the mirror was a bit fogged. Zoe was wearing a faded flannel over a gray shirt, the sleeves rolled up and showing the display of wristbands around both of her wrists, with her jeans finishing before reaching her ankles; instead of the black dress she used when preforming. Her hair was a shadowing her face, a curtain in the left side, not in a neat braid that would let the lights reach her eyes when she played. She was hunched, probably because of the weight of her backpack and the position she arranged herself in when asking him if he needed a hand, a long shot compared to the fabricated version he had created, with her back straight and smile in place while she introduced herself, tinge of blush in her cheeks when he gave her a compliment.

He had no time, or maybe it was because too much time had passed, to wonder whenever his hands were sweaty, since Zoe had awkwardly let her hand fall back, her eyes glued to his cast.

A sharp intake of breath and he was back in his feet, drying his other hand in the fabric of his pants, shifting.

“Evan, right?” Her eyes are going back and forth between his face and his cast.

If he nodded harder, Evan was sure he was going to snap his neck as well.

“Evan.” He didn't need to repeat back his name. Why did he repeat his name? Why was he in charge of his own social interactions? He would bashed his head against the lockers if it wouldn't make it even worse. “I mean, yeah, that’s my name. My name is Evan.” Why can’t he shut up? “And you are Zoe Murphy.”

Zoe nods like a normal person, even if her laugh sounds forced. Awkward. He made the situation awkward.  She is clearly looking for a way to leave, her knuckles turning white around the straps of her backpack. She is just too polite to leave when he obviously looks like he is having trouble breathing. Probably debating or regretting ever stopping to offer him a hand. That he hadn’t even taken. He had just stared at her, like the creep Jared made him to be, until she had been forced to take the hand back to not look like Evan was rejecting her. Which made no sense because no one would believe he was rejecting Zoe Murphy.

“You are in the same grade as my brother, aren’t you?” He had been looking at her shoes, willing them to leave before he could make even more of a mess, but the mention of Connor made his head shot up.

“Yeah.” _We do not know each other outside school, Hansen._ “I mean, I had a few classes with him, but who doesn’t know Connor Murphy?” Zoe’s eyes narrow and Evan takes a step back without meaning to. “That wasn’t what you asked, right? You just asked if I was in the same grade as him, which I am, and you know that, since you just asked for me to confirm it. I mean, I could be from another grade and know him, which I don’t. I mean, I do. But because he is in my grade.” Yep, Jared is definitely right in not trusting his ability to lie or hold a conversation.

Connor’s and Zoe’s expression when unimpressed is uncannily alike and Evan doesn’t know what to do with that information now that he has it. Apart from the fact that it remind him that Connor is not at school but his sister is and that he is unable to ask her about him because that would just mean a breach of trust and he already set that bridge on fire, he doesn’t need to throw gasoline to the remains.

“That's Connor’s handwriting.” Is not a question. He looks away either way. “Why is my brother’s signature in your cast?” He supposed the tone is curious, but all he hears is the accusation behind it.

He knows Alana and Connor had a plan if people asked, a plan B of sorts, made when Evan said that his mom would ask or Jared would make a big deal about it. It was there somewhere, along with all the other stories Connor had invented and Alana had perfected on their years of friendship that had the school as their little secret joke.

Now, without neither of them close, Evan was sure he was the punch line instead.

If he had more than once thought of Connor as fire when he became angry, a volatile flame dancing to close to the edges; Zoe was the opposite, ice cold when pinpointing him, like a butterfly pinned to a wall. He can feel the wings in his blood, fluttering, trying to fly away from here, from the focused attention, from the exposition of lies he hasn't even started to web.

“He, Connor,” He can pretend to follow the erratic movement of his fingers tapping in the locker behind him –When had he hit the lockers? - but everything is too out of focus for that. “We met in the ER. I mean, we had met before, obviously, since we go to the same school, but like, we talked?” He looks briefly at Zoe, too fast to read her, and goes to playing with the edges of his cast. “We talked, because it was like, hours of waiting, you know how it is.” Silence. “And well, I guess he felt bad for me? I mean.” Maybe if he blinks fast enough, he will wake himself up. “Is funny when you think about it. Not that you need to think about it, because why would you think about it? But, as I was saying, it was funny cos I waited and no one came, which, pathetic, right?” He doesn't wait for confirmation. He doesn't feel he can. He can't stop and this is getting worse with every word. “So he decided to sign my cast?”

Zoe hums.

Evan looks down and hope for the shoes to vanish.

They don't.                                                                  

The bell rings and students move around them, in between them, looking for their lockers. Evan is still pinned to his spot, remains of his bridge dancing in the wind and painting everything in ash. Maybe that is why is hard to breathe. Maybe that is why is not hard to flee.

He can hear his name being called a few times. Enough for people to look.

Evan wants to laugh or to cry.

_Such an amazing day._

                                                                                                                  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am also aware I am bad at dialogue. I am trying!!!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor was wrong and never more grateful for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long, exams and all that. Hope you guys enjoy it, thought.
> 
> If anything is untagged or in your opinion needs to be revised, please tell me. I am not yet completly used to the site.

Most people will assure that the color white is symbolism for pureness, calmness and serenity. It’s the color for a wedding or a day in the summer. Its light, the absence of darkness, of fear. But for someone who tends to wake up at hospitals as much as in their own bed, white is nothing more than cold and pain, a blank space.

A blank space is far more dangerous that people realize, because at the end of the day, they are there to be filled and when your head is set on making everything a mess, well, is easy to see the space bend, to see it twist, to overthink and change reality with a blink of an eye.

Connor did not like the color white after so many nights confined to the four walls around him. He did not like it in the sheets around his ankles, nor in the hospital gown he had to wear for a few weeks. It was too bright and too pale at the same time, like it couldn’t decide which side appalled more to it and chose to be both instead, failing and wining at the same time.

God, he was so bored he had started to psychoanalyze a fucking color, or the absence of color, or whatever.

Nurses and doctors kept a stream of conversation coming through the doors and the machines kept reminding Connor that he was alive, that he had failed at dying. Again. But the point was, hospitals were never quiet either, which was something horror movies had exploited for years but that Connor had found out wasn’t true since he was around eleven years old. He hadn’t try to kill myself back then, but he found himself around the waiting rooms quite often, bruises and cuts around his body.

The last time he had been at a hospital was when Evan had broken his arm, where he sat in the incredibly uncomfortable chairs, almost bend in a half while texting Alana to keep her updated and to be able to calm down enough with Evan out of the picture.                                       

**_5 weeks ago_ **

**_Renard:_** _It won_ ’ _t take too long. According to the internet and what you described as: ALANA, HOLY FUCK, I CAN SEE HIS BONE IS NOT WHERE IS SUPPOSED TO BE, THE FUCK!!!! It can take half an hour, max._

**_You:_ ** _thats a long time_

**_Renard_ ** _: That’s why I said TOO long, smartass._

**_Renard:_ ** _By the way, you were freaking out before, which was a completely normal reaction to the situation, but I am still a bit lost in exactly what happened. Also, how are you dealing with it now?_

**_You:_ ** _im dealing_

_Renard is typing…_

**_You:_ ** _shitty response, I know, but is as truthful as its gonna get, beck._

**_Renard:_** _Let it be known that I am letting this go just because I know it_ ’ _s not a normal situation, which again, walk me through it, because I am still not sure how you ended up in the hospital with a classmate that has a broken arm._

**_Renard:_ ** _Only if you want to tell me. You know how it goes._

**_You:_ ** _there is not much to tell_

Connor stood up, moving from side to side of the set of chairs, eyes in the few letters he had typed but not sent yet. He ran his hand through his hair, yanking at it when he found a knot. The small jolt of pain was familiar and grounding, solid where his skin felt like it had been electrified. He knew he had to tell Alana, she was already too deep in whatever the situation was after all. He just didn’t want to ramble or make the story ten times longer that what it was supposed to be and he knew himself enough to be aware that if he got sidetracked, he wouldn’t end the conversation for the time Evan was ready to leave, and he needed that conversation to be over before that so Alana could guide him or at least point him in the right direction for this whole ordeal.

This is why he had gone to smoke, goddamit. He felt like he was about to burst and reality was about to escape him the second he stopped reminding himself of the things around him. At least with the drugs he knew what had caused all the weird shit, but without it, it was his brain being an asshole which he could do nothing about apart from trying to make it shut up, which lead back to the fact that he really needed to smoke.

Connor was sure the entire understanding of the situation hadn’t actually sink in yet. He could feel it in the back of his head, the tightrope ready to snap under the weight. Until then, though, Connor was able to set a semi coherent resume of what happened, with the image switching and shifting around his memory.

He had left the house around noon, before his dad arrived from work and his mom from whatever activity of the day that was probably completely different to the other activity from last week or something. Zoe was practicing in her room, the door closed but the noise reaching him anyway when he passed by. He didn’t even try to get the car keys, opting for walking. He needed to move. To not be still. Tomorrow, he wouldn’t even want to sit up in his bed, but today, today felt like the inside of a frizzled drink, the buzzing in his head getting louder and louder with each step. He had been texting back and forth with Alana, both talking about the last book they had read, million details that had been hiding in plain sight but they could crack if they tried. Alana was used to it by now, to the streams of words and sudden apparent joy that annoyed Connor in feeling so foreign, so amplified.

He had follow his usual route to a seclude part of the park that he used for smoking after his parents took his car away and he wasn’t able to reach the orchard anymore. He had expected quiet and a nonsensical conversation with Alana that would lead to her being understanding but disapproving and in him feeling guilty but not enough. Pretty standard procedure. He had not expected to find Evan Hansen lying in the grass, motionless.

He knew Evan in the same way Evan knew him, from background faces in school and hands that shot up when attendance was taken. They had never been friends. He knew that he was usually with Jared Kleinman, which was not the best presentation card but, well, he was Connor Murphy, so the sentiment was mutual as far as he could tell. Not that anything of that mattered when his brain was going a mile per hour and his legs where rushing to catch up with it.

Connor did not tell Alana that it wasn’t the gruesome accident that had scared him the most. No, that had been panic kicking in and setting his body into action. But what had terrified him was the fact that for all the years that they had gone to school together, Connor had never seen Evan being more than a blur, the definition of unrest, some part of him always jittery. With the constant of movement gone, Evan Hansen was wrong, shifted, out of place in the middle of a forest, an opposite with the same face.

“Hansen.”

The bizarre scene shattered instantly, with Evan’s eyes opening and a grunt of pain making itself heard in the quiet. He had tear marks around his cheeks and his clothes were rumpled, blue eyes widening when landing in his arm.

Connor was certain Evan was going to throw up.

Connor was wrong and never more grateful for it.

“You came.” Okay, so the guy was delirious. That didn’t seem like a good sign. “I knew it.” The glassy eye thing didn’t seem like a better sign either.

“Come on, we need to get you to a hospital or something.”

Kneeling beside Evan, Connor secured one of his arm around Evan’s waist, pulling him up while avoiding touching the other arm, cursing under his breath when it made Evan whimper. He took a second to move Evan’s good arm around his neck and to accommodate to both of their weight combined before he started walking as carefully and as fast as he dared, flinching whenever Evan made a noise to indicate that he was hurting.

It was the longest and most nerve wracking walk of his life.

**_Present day_ **

The door opening made him come back to the beeping of machines and hurried steps that were always a beat too late to make sense. He didn’t even try to sit down when he saw who was at the other side of the door, preferring to examine the tiny holes in his arms were the IV had been connected to.

“Connor.” He was really pale right now. He was able to see the green of his veins, taking blood to all the parts they it to be. “Connor.” His nail polish was scrubbed clean, which he needed to fix as soon as he went home. “Connor, I know you can hear me. Look at me when I talk to you.”

Connor let the air out slowly, taking his time, before looking up at his father. He was already frowning.  

_If you are so mad that I am even breathing, you should have let me die._

As if hearing his thought, Larry sighed and took a seat beside the bed. He looked tired, worn out in a way Connor hadn’t seen him years. The end of the rope was shortening with each second they regarded each other. It was not the first time his dad had come over to visit, but it would be the last.

“They say you can leave by noon.” A loosening of the tie but a straightening of the back, with elbows resting in knees. Eyes locked and reproach not hidden in them. “We talked to the school and since this was a medical situation, adding to the fact it happened at the beginning of the year were tests haven’t started yet, you can still graduate with your senior class.”

Connor rolled his eyes, already tired of the conversation. He wanted to go home. He wanted to slam a door that wasn’t there. He wanted to sleep in a bed that was his own. He wanted another chance that would not end up with problems with his system but a complete shutdown of it.

Larry cleared his throat.

“Since you lost two weeks of school due to this…” Connor raised an eyebrow, waiting. “Incident.” Sure, they could call it that. “You need to catch up in your classes. The principal was not impressed with your attendance last year nor did he want to give this opportunity to a student whose record was as yours.”

And here it came. The effort his parents made. The sacrifices, as he was repeatedly reminded. All the influence and money they had to throw around to make life “easier” for him. How could he be so ungrateful? Could he not see they were trying to help? How many kids wouldn’t wish for this kind of second chance? Third? Fifth? Other parents wouldn’t have this level of patience, Connor. You need to get a hold of yourself, Connor. You wanted our attention? You have it now, young man. This is your last chance. This IS your last chance. This is it, no more. Last chance.

“Since your sister is already staying for band practice, your mother suggested those days for you to take the extra lessons.”

“That’s bullshit. I don’t need the extra lesson. Kids skip school all the time and they never have to repay the classes they missed.” He looked away and crossed his arms, fully aware he looked like a child throwing a tantrum to his father. When did he not look that way to his eyes, though? Attention seeker.

“This was not a request, this was an order. You can’t and you won’t let this offer slip away. You are grown enough to know that your actions have consequences and that you deal with those as they handed.” It was the voice he hated. The one that brook no argument. The one that took away the car and the door.

“I was supposed to die. That was the consequence to my actions.” Just because it was meant to stop all debate, did not mean Connor was going to listen to it. If anything, it made him want to lash harder.

He could see his father flinch from the corner of his eye, as if he had been slapped, his back hitting the back of the chair. He glanced at the way he composed himself, tie back in place and the sound of the chair as he stood up, eyes hard and frown back in place.

“You will not talk that way around your mother. She is being through enough after this. We all have been. So you are going to take the extra classes and you are going to be grateful about it, understood?”

Connor bit his lower lip. He was so tired. He already dreaded the fight he had started himself.

“Understood.” He sounded weak even to his own ears. Pathetic.

“I know you believe we are doing this as some kind of punishment for what you did, but this is for your own good.” A hand through silver hair. “I will get your mother and then we can go home.”

A scoff was drown by the sound of the door clicking close.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so for anyone who might be confused on why Alana’s name of Connor’s phone is Renard is bc I am the least creative person on the world. But short explanation aside, is since - I think it was Mike Faist who said it.- Connor’s favorite book was The Little Prince (So weird to not write El principito for me, you guys have no idea how weird it is.), even if it wasn’t Mike who said it, it seemed fitting to me so I am going with it. Renard is Fox in french, according to google, so I just thought it would be fun that Connor named Alana after the character. 
> 
> So yeah, that was it. Non creative names comes from yours truly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She doesn’t know if he knows that. If he even suspects that she is also balancing on the edge of the knife. That she doesn’t know how to talk to him anymore either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im sorry about the late update. I have been sick and exam season is never over so im squeezing as much writing as I can when I can. Hope you guys enjoy it!
> 
> As always, pls tell me if you guys find any typos or something.

Zoe has her earphones on with no music playing, the door of her room ajar. She can hear him moving around in his room, rustling of the sheets he sounds like he is fighting and losing against. The hallway is dark but Connor is awake, the light of his phone illuminating his face blue and yet Zoe needs to hear him, to fill the silence the nights had been plagued with when he was at the hospital. Seeing him doesn’t seem like enough when she has seen him unconscious already, so lifeless and blank that she got reminded of a corpse instead of slamming doors and sore throats.

He settles in his bed and the noise stops, but silence always refused Connor when he was awake, always followed him, made itself known even when he didn’t want. Now, instead of the sheets is the soft sound of his fingers tapping on the screen on his phone, emotions flooding his face when he feels himself alone.

He is smiling and Zoe wonders if this has anything to do with Evan Hansen. She had been trying to talk to the guy for two weeks but he seems to disappear like vapor whenever she catches his eye in the hallways, lost between backpacks and faceless students before she reaches him.

She hasn’t ask Connor.

She hasn’t talk to Connor since he came back from the hospital.

She doesn’t remember talking, actually talking to him, since much longer than that.

They had been avoiding each other since he came back yesterday, too much tension with their parents and therapy discussions to even encourage her to try, afraid of a harsh reaction that would send her back tumbling from promises made when the sun was barely reaching windows.

She is staring at him when it happens. Connor’s arms are outstretched, the phone held precariously by both of his hands while he reads whatever is on the screen, mouthing the words to himself, and then the phone is falling and hitting him square in the face, making Zoe laugh without being planned. She can see the moment he realizes she is awake but she can’t stop laughing, tears in the corner of her eyes and arms around her stomach.

She can hear him, the sound of sheets being thrown without a care and angry stomps around the hallway but she can’t stop. Zoe knows she needs to run, to lock the door before he is able to make it inside, to hide. But she can’t stop, not when the laughter is bubbling inside of her and breathing is so hard to do but being lightheaded never felt so right. Not when she was able to see Connor dumbfounded, blinking at the ceiling and trying to understand what had just happen.

Zoe feels more than sees the moment the lights in her room are flickered on, flooding the room with brightness that would hurt if everything didn’t hurt already.

“Are you laughing at me?” His tone is angry, a hissed sentence that wants to be shouted but can’t.

Zoe’s head shots up, the remaining of laughter making her shoulders shake.

His knuckles are white, one hand around the door frame and the other around the cellphone, the screen blinking to a rhythm neither of them care to follow. He is wearing the jeans he has been wearing since yesterday and Zoe wonders if he took a shower at all today. His hair is in a knot at the top of his head, haphazardly done and under the scowl he is sending her way, she can tell that the permanent eye bags have survive their stay at the hospital. His shirt is askew and she is pretty sure he hasn’t notice yet.

He has not entered the room, thought. He is staying there, with four fingers pressed to the wood but not moving, the socked feet barely grazing the beginning of her carpet. She gets reminded, out of nowhere, of those stories they used to tell each other when it was Halloween, about vampires and welcoming mats.

“I… No, I. I wasn’t laughing at you.” Suddenly, her hands seem pretty interesting. How they twist and tug each other, perched as they are on top of the confronter.

“Well, you should. That was pretty stupid of me.”

And Zoe knows this too. The moments they have always shared, when the rooms are too dark and reality shifts without sunlight to keep it glue to what is meant to be. She remembers them so well, just as the threats and the pounding against a closed door. She knows that the third step on the stairs, up to down, is where they will sit side to side while their parents argue downstairs, until one of their name –Or usually both.- get dropped in the conversation and each one makes their way back to their own rooms. She practically taste the flavor of microwaved leftovers when pulling all nighters or before some big performance, Connor’s legs dangling from the kitchen counter while he eats his own. She can hear him humming a song she had been practicing the night before. She sees the way he will hesitate before knocking on the frame, a barely there whisper to tell her dinner is ready. The shared look when their mom is trying a new recipe. The thrown compliment she is not sure she didn’t dream of.

She can see him changing weight from one leg to the other, already second guessing. She is lost too. She doesn’t know if he knows that. If he even suspects that she is also balancing on the edge of the knife. That she doesn’t know how to talk to him anymore either.

Connor’s coughs, a muttered curse and Zoe’s eyes are back on him, half of his body already turned away, planning on retreating to his room.

“I mean.” He stops, glances over his shoulder, half of his left foot in the air. “I wasn’t laughing at you.” She needs to make that clear. “Is just that… you just looked so…” His left foot is on the floor again, twisting to face her again. One eyebrow raised.

“So?” His fingers are tapping the frame. The cellphone screen is black.

“Confused? As if you couldn’t believe that was actually happen to a real life person.”

“So you weren’t laughing at me, but at my face.” A chime from the phone.  The ghost of smile at the corner of his lips. “Seems logical to me.”

It’s not even funny. Is as he is telling one of his “Chicken crossed the road” jokes, delivered with the certainty that his audience would find it hilarious. But Zoe finds herself laughing either way, because everything is light when is dark around them. As if they are only meant to be siblings when there is no one there to catch the moment.

Connor is laughing, strained as it might be, but he is laughing and Zoe is once again grateful for sound. For not needing to shut this out. For the illogical feeling that this might be it, that they are gonna try in all the right ways.

The phone chimes again.

“Goodnight, Zoe.”

“Goodnight, Connor.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sense of déjà vu is hard to avoid and Alana expects, for the flick of one second, for a copy of Tom Sawyer to appear in between them.

Is the third time she has undone her ponytail so she can do it again. Her backpack is resting against the open door and her eyes keep leaving the glass window at the top of the door to settle in the almost empty corridors. The conversations are scatter at this time of the day, most people already home or in the way to their respective clubs, and Alana would be too, with her backpack bumping her back in tandem with her feet while going to the council room, practicing what to say to the other students. She is not, though. She is redoing her ponytail using a see through material as a mirror, the motion a familiar routine that tries to ground her but that betrays her when she yanks too hard at the final loop.

Alana huffs and crouches to reach the side pocket of her bag, looking for her phone. The hand on her shoulder makes her jump, losing her balance and falling backwards, colliding with a pair of legs. She doesn’t need to look up to not who it is. Anyone else would have said her name out loud to catch her attention instead. She looks up anyway, her eyes already narrowed and disapproving.

“You are late.” The slight bend of the knee behind her neck propping her to stand up. “My time is not yours to waste, you know?” She snatches her bag in her way up, pushing the door open completely with her shoulders, not looking back.

“It kinda is.” He closes it with his foot on his way in. “Whatever, Beck, the faster we do this, the faster we can leave and you can go back to boring other people than are not me.”

She shoots him a betrayed look, putting her bag in the teacher’s desk. Connor’s eyes move to the door and for a second, Alana thinks he is ashamed of what he said, but when her eyes follow the same route, she can see the student that has stopped to peer inside the classroom, hurriedly moving away as soon as he catches Alana looking back.

The next few minutes are spent getting out markers and notes from her backpack, flicking pages until she finds what she needs. Connor’s head is resting on the desk he took when she looks up, his fingers tapping to an unheard rhythm on the part of his arms that are not pillowing his forehead. His bag is on the floor, not even open, seemingly light enough in the way it bends that Alana is doubting he brought all the books she asked him to.

He seems tired and Alana would be happy to let him be, to take one of her books and settle in the chair next to his for the amount of time the tutoring is supposed to last.

She bites the inside of her cheek and knocks on the wooden desk instead, bringing bleary eyes to settle on her face. The sense of déjà vu is hard to avoid and Alana expects, for the flick of one second, for a copy of Tom Sawyer to appear in between them. His eyes are not bloodshot now, but he is paler and his face looks sharper, and just like last time, Alana wonders if she is going to make it through this two hours without turning around and finding Connor gone.

“What.” A question pretending to be a statement. Maybe is the other way around.

Alana wants to pull a strand of his hair and tell him that she missed him, that she found that book he recommended before school started and that she is not sure she likes it. She wants to ask how he is doing, if whatever made him sick is finally gone or if his parents made him come to class. She wants to ask if he was sick at all, or if that’s another lie that the school is going to bear for the sake of money. She wants to take his phone and let him sleep while she texts Evan to meet them after tutoring in her house.

Alana knows she can’t do nothing of that. Not right now, not when he might think she is patronizing him or some other crazy idea that embeds itself in the words unsaid.

“You can’t memorize everything I’m about to explain to you, you should take notes.” She knocks her knuckles against the wood one last time before heading to the board.

This. This part is easy for her. Standing and talking to an audience that doesn’t need to respond is something she can handle, something she is good at. Words flow easily when she has already rehearse them a thousand times, when she has written the same notes over and over in different notebooks to assure herself that she knows the material. She doesn’t flatter or second guesses when explaining, a second nature that is not nature at all but no one but her needs to know about that. About diction practice and learning to stop moving around when talking, to keep focus on her and what she is saying. To not leave enough space for anyone to intervene, to answer question before they are asked, to avoid a crescendo inside the harmony she is making.

Alana tells herself that is because she is good at it that no one interrupts her when she talks. She will ignore the tapping of phones and the hushed conversations. They are paying attention. Of course they are. They don’t ask anything after she is finished because she already covered everything she had to cover.

“Alana, Jesus, I can’t write that fast. No one can write that fast.”

She spins around so fast she makes herself dizzy, the world going sideways for a the few seconds before her open palm hits the desk to keep herself upright. The marker in that hand clatters to the floor.

Connor is halfway off his chair, his right arm outstretched as if he was ready to reach her in case it was more than the whiplash. His notebook is open and half of it seems to be anything but notes, but Alana can see the word that he couldn’t finish writing when he moved.

She had forgotten that Connor was the audience she was talking to, that he didn’t care about not interrupting her, not the way Evan cared, who seemed to always want to let her finish but also hoping he might be able to get a word before the topic changes. No, Connor is not polite when he cuts her in the middle of one of her rehearsed talks, he just does it, maybe without thinking or with full intention, but he does.

And Alana gives up on the idea of not hugging him, because she had missed him so much, had missed someone that actually listen to what she had to say, that did not just hum or nod to whatever she was saying, had missed her friend more than she had cared to express.

He is awkwardly standing there when her arms wrap around his middle, always a bit at lost when contact makes a too sudden appearance.

“I missed you so much.” It’s a whispered confession that feels like a shout in all of the silence.

She can’t hear his heart beating or anything like that. Is just a hug, simple and unique, but at the same time, as any other. His arms are hanging at his sides still, as if his brain is trying to catch up with the situation.

Alana waits.

And waits.

And then he is hunching and his arms settle around her shoulders, not with the fierceness she had done it, but with a relaxed air, as if a weight was taken instead of given. She can feel the awkwardness clinging to them as the moments extends and Connor clears his throat, patting her in the back as if he is not sure why she hugged him, as if missing him is not a clear enough reason to motive it, as if maybe she is indeed feeling ill and maybe that’s why she wavered at the board minutes ago.

She smiles when he lets him go and gets one of those side smiles that he always gives her when she does something he isn’t expecting, like he isn’t sure if he should encourage her or dismiss her completely.

“Okay, so.” Alana clears her throat as well, moving backwards back to the teacher’s desk.

Connor let himself fall into the chair. Literally. That’s not sitting, that’s just letting his body flop down into the chair without a care. Alana rolls her eyes when he nods mockingly and puts his pencil on the paper, staring at her with wide eyes like a little kid.

Alana doesn’t finish the lecture, not when she is smiling and being interrupted every few minutes, Connor trying to stray her from the topic at hand when the boredom seems to catch him.

The door is opening when Alana is sighing at something Connor said and Zoe enters the room a little shyly, excusing herself for interrupting to Alana, the guitar case she is carrying propping the door open. She looks back at Connor and tells him they need to go, to what Connor responses by closing his notebook with more force than necessary and shouldering past her without saying goodbye to Alana.

“Sorry about him.” Zoe’s voice carries, even when she is looking over her shoulder at Connor instead of at Alana. “Thanks for helping out.” She looks back at her and is the same smile Connor had given her an hour ago, less sharp and a bit faker, somehow.

“It was no problem at all. But I have to get going, President duties and all that.” Alana is putting all the material back in her backpack, shouldering her bag and smiling at Zoe once is done.

“Actually, I was wondering if you could give me your phone number, so you can contact me if you cancel or something.” Zoe changes the hand she is carrying the guitar case in, propping the door with her shoulder instead. “In case Connor forgets to tell me.” She is fishing her phone out of her jeans with the hand she has free, maneuvering as best as she can.

Alana is not sure why she doesn’t put the case down to do this. Alana is not going to tell her to do so, thought. Challenging a Murphy hasn’t end up well ever in her experience and she is not going to risk it. She entertains herself by looking for her own phone instead.

“Here, you can save yourself.” Alana takes the phone and gives hers in exchange, the tapping of the numbers the only sound in the room.

“Thanks.”

Zoe smiles and waves goodbye, the door closing after her. Alana can hear the sound of her sneakers on the floor, jogging, probably to catch up with Connor or simply because she wants to.

Alana goes towards the council room, reciting Murphy’s Law to herself as both siblings ignore each other in their way home.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry I lasted this long to update and that it was this kind of mess that you guys ended up with. I wish I could said the waiting was worthy but yeah, I hope next chapter is both sooner and better. Thank you for reading! And if you are reading my other fic, it should update between tomorrow and the day after, I am editing that one too. Sorry again. As always, please let me know if there is any mistake my sleep deprived brain didnt catch up.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor Murphy looks like the first spark of a fire, not the smoke after it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update this fic. University and family matters had me trapped, and I ended up with a just a week of vacations that is so close to ending that life lose its meaning for a minute there.
> 
> BUT, I really hope you guys enjoy this chapter.

Jared is standing next to Evan’s locker, a Cheshire like grin plastered on his face, widening with each step Evan takes. The sudden urge to forget about his classes completely and run in the other direction appears, but the realization that Jared would adore to scream whatever piece of gossip he has makes the option go away.

“Zoe Murphy is looking for you, you know?” Evan knows. Evan is also ignoring the fact that that is happening. Jared barrels on. “So, what did you do? Did she found out about your creepy photo stash?”

“What? No. I don’t have a creepy photo stash.”

“Oh, did you tell her about your feelings?” Jared’s is batting his eyelashes, hands clasped in front of his chest, leaning in.

“Jared, come on.” If he could shove his books faster into his backpack, he would. Stupid cast.

“Oh my God, you did!” Evan’s textbook clatters to the ground as Jared spins him around.

Evan knows that look.

He hates that look.

“What did you say? What did she say?” Evan knows Jared enough to know that he won’t let him answer neither of those questions before he continues talking. He stills open his mouth, alarms blaring in his head at the way students are slowing down to look at them. “No, shh, I got it.”

“Jared, shut up, come on.”

“‘He-e-ello, Zoe. Your name is Zoe, right? Of course is Zoe, I know is Zoe, I have been stalking your social media since forever.’“ Jared’s voice gets higher, instead of lower, which doesn’t make sense to Evan if he is trying to imitate him, but that makes perfect sense when he hears the light laughter around him.

Jared loves the spotlight, he is never going to shut up now.

Evan can’t run, his feet are rooted to the spot and the people that are not quite stopping but not leaving either make him feel claustrophobic.  Jared is just having a laugh, like always. He doesn’t mean to make Evan feel this way. Other people could probably take it, other people might even joke back or something. But Evan can’t. Because his brain is stuck in the way people are whispering and in the high note that is not even close to what his real voice sounds like, but is a mockery, which is easy to do when Evan Hansen is involved. Because Evan Hansen is a joke.

“-break their arm from jerking off too much.” That one is not even new, he had told that one on the first day, but people are laughing and glancing at Evan’s arm. He hides it behind is back and prays for the bell. “Really, you should consider it an honor, Zoe, after al-”

“Are you talking about my sister?” He is tall enough to be seen even without people moving out of his way but staying near the lockers, smelling a fight in the making as predators sensing blood.

It’s the first time Evan has actually seen Connor since school started, more than a glimpse of his hair, the sound of his boots or the black in his nails. Alana said he had been looking paler than usual, but Evan can’t see it, not when he is marching to where they are standing and the last word in his head is to describe him is pale.

Connor Murphy looks like the first spark of a fire, not the smoke after it.

Connor’s hands are turning white around the straps of his bag, yes, but that’s the only part of him that seems to have decided to devoid itself of color. His eyes are bright, his face is flushed and he is so painfully furious that the instinct of going away that Jared had planted in his head had blown into full time escape plan, but Evan has never listen to his gut whenever Connor was involved. Maybe that’s why he always ended up staying.

“Connor, my man.” Jared is leaning backwards, his voice dropping from the high pitched version and the nervous laughter tagging at the end of the phrase.

Evan thinks that the last part is the only time in the last two minutes that Jared imitation of him has actually been accurate, which might have been the only time in the last two minutes where he hadn’t intended to do so.

“I asked you a question, Kleinman.” His voice is eerily quiet, a calm that precedes the storm.

Connor’s eyes shift from Jared to Evan and back to Jared, but is enough of a movement to remind Evan that he is also in the line of fire and that Jared wouldn’t mind throwing him under the bus if it meant he could go unscathed from this whole situation. This whole situation where the subject of the ordeal is Connor’s little sister, the sister that is not even a good topic to approach while chatting with him and Alana in a casual manner, the sister who has been trying to catch Evan since he slipped through a conversation, the same one Jared knows he used to have a crush on and the same crush Jared loves to blow up of proportion with an audience, which they have since students love gossip when they are in the sidelines as much as teachers love to give detention for those in it, and Jared is going to make some smart comment to seem tough and everything is going to crash in itself and somehow Evan is going to be dragged as soon as danger is near and danger is always near because that is Connor middle name at this stage, well, his middle name is actua-

Jared’s hand in his shoulder makes him jump and is a beat too late that he realizes that Jared had already been saying something, both eyes zeroing on him and the few scatter glances from the bystanders.

“Isn’t that right, Evan?” The hand in his shoulder tightens, a clear sign to nod along.

Connor’s furrows eyebrows, on the other hand, is neon to him, inviting him to shake his head.

Evan isn’t sure what he is supposed to do but he knows whatever he might throw himself into, must be chosen quickly.

“I am not sure?” Both faces scowl and Evan shrugs, wondering about the bell once more.

“What the fuck, Evan? How can you not be sure? I literally told you as soon as you arrived.” The hold in his shoulder is starting to hurt and he is not sure what his face does, but Jared lets go, clearly frustrated with him.

“I mean, is a thing of perspective, isn’t it?” He has no idea what he is talking about, but he knows he won’t stop now because he seemed to have said the wrong thing and Jared is looking at him like he would prefer not car at all than continue to have to speak to him. “Like how sometimes you think: Oh, look, that tree is wilting, I should water it. So you do, but then it dies because you weren’t supposed to water it, you just drown it. So, it all depends on the context you are trying to provide, like, maybe it was what you were saying but I could have misinterpreted what you were saying or what you were asking right now, you know how easy it is to say what you don’t mean and mean what you don’t say, so I really just wanted to-”

“Hansen.” Connor’s voice cuts him out.

“Hm.”

“You are rambling.”

Evan laughs nervously instead, bending down to reach for his fallen book, anything to avoid the way Jared’s eyes are moving between him and Connor, narrowing when they settle back on him.

No, not on him.

The cast.

Fuck.

“Oh.” Jared’s voice sounds deadpanned, the mocking edges disappearing as his eyes settle in Evan’s. “Making new friends, aren’t we, Hansen?”

“I, um, I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” Humorless laughter doesn’t suit Jared, not ever, not now. “Birds of a feather flock together, right?” Jared shoulders him when walking away, circling Connor before turning backwards. “Guess you found a new ride home.”

Evan is not sure if the added “Freaks” was meant to be heard, but the hallway is far too quiet to not hear it. He can see Connor tensing at the word beside him, but his head is stuck on Jared leaving, on the fact that he somehow fucked up that more than normal. He doesn’t know where or how, but he did, and now he is going to take the bus home which wouldn’t be a problem if he had known before, but now is not an option and Jared is gone. Jared mocks him and laughs at him, he even walks away from time to time, but he is never gone when Evan leaves the school, always at the ready with a jab about having to wait for him but waiting nerveless.

The bells rings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, if any mistaken were made, let me know. Editing is the worse when reading your own work makes you uncomfy. Also, please take into account that each chapter is being told by a particular perspective and that affects how the story is told. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. Also, I just realized I have to edit the last chapter bc I didnt add the summary.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His reputation precedes him, or maybe, it shallow him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its been soooo long, im sorry for the delay. I actually started this before I started the chapter of Walking Ironies but the universe sometimes hates me so, sorry. I hope you guys like it. 
> 
> Im back at university so i dont know if they updates are going to be quicker. I am sorry. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading.

Connor leaves.

Let Evan worry about his friendship with Kleinman as he pleases. Let him look at the retreating form of his family friend as a longing heroine in one of those movies that no one actually watches when they come out but they have all seen when is midnight and is the only thing airing. Kleinman is an asshole and the correct way to look at the prospect of him leaving is with unabashed relieve, not whatever Evan is doing.

Maybe Evan Hansen has a shitty taste in friends all around. That would explain the fact that he actively sought Connor after the day at the hospital to apologize, which, what? Who the fuck apologizes because they broke their arm? Evan fucking Hansen, that’s who.

He doesn’t know what the fuck they were talking about, just that it involved Zoe. Of course it involved Zoe. When has anything that had to do with Connor not dragged the obvious comparison with perfect Zoe? The better sibling. The patient one that had to put up with Connor. What a martyr. What a saint.

What a fucking joke, that’s what.

He arrives late to his first class because he was considering skipping it all together. He sits on the back and doesn’t talk. Doesn’t move. He exists and that’s exhausting enough. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Zoe wasn’t supposed to pick him up after school. His mother wasn’t supposed to act all teary eyed and his father didn’t have the right to look disappointed when all he ever did was remind him of what a waste of resources, of sacrifices he was.

When the class is done, he reaches for his bag on autopilot, trying to remember if he has anything to smoke with him or if he didn’t prepare because he was supposed to be dead by now. He doesn’t even have money, Larry new-old strategy to avoid him from buying anything. He needs to smoke just as much as he needs to not be here. To stop seeing the swing of a ponytail and feeling Zoe is watching him, again. He can’t even text Alana cos that would end up with him screaming at her and she doesn’t deserve that. Scratch that, no one deserve to be stuck with Connor Murphy. Connor Murphy doesn’t even want to be stuck with himself, hence the suicide attempt.

There are whispers as he moves, glares in his direction from students he doesn’t even know, hasn’t even been in the same classroom with, people that hate him by association because that’s a thing that happens when one is Connor Murphy, apparently. His reputation precedes him, or maybe, it shallow him. He doesn’t exists to them, he is the shadow instead, enlarged, a monster in their wall.

Connor finds his earphones tangled in his bag, untangling them as he walks, unnecessary force that makes the knot tighter instead. His patience is running thin but he needs to mute them, to stop the assault somehow, to shush them, to drown them. His hands are shaking when he plugs them, finding a random playlist and raising the volume as high as it can get, sure that people around him can hear the faint notes when walking near him. It’s better than the slamming of lockers or giggles too close to comfort. It’s not good but is better and at this point, Connor is settling with numbing whatever he can gets his hands on.

People shoulder him while passing, some more violent that others, but Connor isn’t here to give them the satisfaction, bleeding his own lip instead by biting too hard.

The sound of a notification in his phone almost rip his ear open.

He cringes before the music is back, furrowing his eyebrows as he opens the message.

**_Hansen:_ ** _Sorry about Jared_

**_Hansen:_ ** _I am sorry too, but you told me to stop saying it_

**_Hansen:_ ** _Does that count as me saying it?_

**_Hansen:_ ** _Sorry_

**_Hansen:_ ** _Fuck_

**_You:_ ** _its fine_

Connor silence his phone after that, not in the mood to speak to anyone.

Evan finds him at lunch, which, no. That’s not something they do. That’s not something they do today, at all. But he is there, sitting next to Connor, wrapped sandwich in hand, respectable distance between them. Connor looks around but most students that are eating outside are far, the two of them the only ones resting their backs to the school’s wall. Connor had found something to smoke, the cigarette dangling in his right hand, wrist supported on his bended knee, sure that his whole existence was screaming: Do not come near me.  

He glares at Evan.

“We don’t talk to each other at school.” He is high strung, he can’t deal with Evan Hansen right now, because he won’t be able to get rid of the guilt if he makes the boy cry, again.

“You are the one talking to me.” He bites on his food, and honestly, what?

Connor narrows his eyes and Evan’s hands are trembling, his shoulders are tense, his foot tapping a rhythm that reminds him of the times Zoe lend him her guitar and would try to direct him, some mess that doesn’t follow a patron. Evan Hansen is nervous, like always, but the appearance of nonchalant is there too, a conscious effort to mask the jittery energy Connor is used to seeing.

He brings the cigarette to his lips and inhales, letting the smoke settle before blowing it to the sky. A breathing exercise of its own. Calming him or numbing him, a routine that doesn’t need too much thought but that he focus on, a sliver of normalcy to keep him away from the whirlwind inside his head.

“Hansen, what the fuck?” The ash falls next to his boot and he smudges it.

“Alana has been texting you.” Evan’s voice has the tremble under it, words almost tugging between themselves, but there is an edge to it. “I was too. We were worried.”

Connor rolls his eyes, presses the tip of his boot harder to the cement.

“You’re always worried, Hansen. It’s the anxiety.”

“Yeah.” Evan turns around, locking eyes with Connor. His fingers are tapping a melody Connor can’t follow. “Sure. Probably that, Connor.”

It’s his name that tip him, that lets him know that the edge to Evan voice is anger, tone a bit harsher under the usual lagging on words.  It’s also the first time Evan has said his name out loud around Connor and of course it would be with anger under it. Ha, he ruined something he had no idea he had been expecting.

“What are you angry about?” Damn his voice always getting softer around this boy. He is angry at Evan for being angry at him, this is not how his voice should sound like.

Evan startles even so, eyebrows furrowing, like he can’t decide or pinpoint the reasons. He shakes his head and stands up, Connor scrambling to follow.

“Answer your phone, okay?” The edge is there but the concern in the eyes is betraying. Connor feels wrong footed.

The bells rings somewhere in the distance. Evan nods to himself and goes back inside, walking faster than needed, murmuring something to himself that Connor can’t hear.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: Evan Hansen is passive aggresive until he explodes.
> 
> Let me know if its any mistakes or just your general opinion, whatever you guys want. 
> 
> THANK YOU!!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not fair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to nail this chapter, I hope I did.

Evan Hansen is sitting cross legged on the floor outside the classroom and he seems so fixated on his books, mouthing something to himself, that Zoe is sure he won’t be able to flee the scene before she gets where he is. He has earphones on, but he startles when Zoe moves towards the door, which makes her believes he must be listening really low music or nothing at all, pen dropping and rolling to the other side of the hall due to the slight jump. Evan scrambles, pushing his things away from his lap, but Zoe is already bending down to pick it up, straightening once she has caught it. 

Zoe can hear Alana’s voice through the closed door when she gives Evan his pen, apologies falling from  his lips a mile a minute, and she knows this is the moment where she can ask all the questions that has been forming for two weeks or more, to ask about his brother and the cast and the sudden Houdini acts, to get some answers instead of riddles. She opens her mouth at the same time the door next to them swings open, smacking Zoe on the side and making her lose her balance, high-pitched scream breaking free as her feet trip with the errand notebooks open around, wincing when her forearm collides with the wall to avoid falling down.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry, are you okay?” Zoe can see Alana's outstretched arm and wide eyes through the curtain of her own hair, how her other hand is barely grazing the door as its passes to shut itself. Connor is standing behind her, head angled sideways to hide the fact that he is laughing quietly. Asshole.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm okay, don't worry about it.” Her arm stings and her body's weight is pinned on it, so she shakes the hair out of her face and pulls herself away from the wall. She adjust the bag hanging from her shoulder and looks down, eyes catching Evan's movements as he hastily recovers his books and put them in his own bag, face red and dowcasted. 

“Do you want an-”

“No, no, I can do this, don't worry.” He shoulders his bag and stands up, eyes fixated on the floor. “I, um, should probably get going either way?” 

“Do you want a ride?” She asks, but its echoed by her brother, the result sounding too much like a practiced tactic that they never planned. She glazes at Connor, who is frowning as his eyes go from her to Evan and back to her. 

Zoe doesn't know what the deal it's between them, but she frowns back, irritated at the fact that she keeps getting pushed into the sidelines, that the answers sneak around when she needs them, ready to shove back because she isn't letting this go and if Evan Hansen refuses to get caught, then she is going to get to the source. 

Alana coughs, smile plastered on her face as she moves towards Evan, hand resting on his shoulder when she reaches him.

“I can take you home.” Evan nods, eager.

“You don't have a car.” Zoe has never been one to not say what's on her mind, and she is positive she has seen Alana pedaling her way to school. “We can take him home, you don't have to worry, I am sure you are busy.”

The smile doesn't break, but Zoe can see that Alana is squeezing Evan's shoulder, eyes finding his in some kind silent communication that has no way of existing. Except that Alana's name is there, in the tucked corner, shadowed by Connor's kindergarten signature. And nothing makes sense, because there is no Jared on that cast, the only person she has seen Evan Hansen be with before this wacky senior year of theirs started.

Connor moves in her peripheral vision, and even like this, she can see that he has added himself to the conversation, head tilted and body angled to keep the other two slightly covered from Zoe's view. She shifts and adjust her backpack.

Fuck it.

Zoe huffs. “I will see you in the car, Connor.” She doesn't wait for an answer before walking down the hall.

She feels like a child, stomping and angry, itching to slam a door or scream. Zoe knows that she and Connor are not friends, that they are siblings and that's a whole different category to be in. They stand each other, not particularly like each other, even when they miss each other. Or at least Zoe hopes it's mutual, without caring of the evidence her brain supplies.

The parking lot is not far, few people and fewer cars, and she searches for her keys as she moves, moving her things around until her hand touches metal and pulls. 

The keychain giggles with each step until she grabs it hard enough for it to stop, denting her palm in the process. She doesn't get it. Did they know what Connor attempted to do a few weeks back? Was any of them the anonymous tip because Connor cared about them enough to say goodbye? Their mom would rest easier if he told her he had friends. Their dad would stop saying he left all the time to smoke if he said he was going out with someone. She wouldn't have to babysit him all the time if their parents had any other contact. Everything would be easier, for all of them, if Connor admitted it. 

But of course, Connor never would. That would be accepting something, making it real, tangible, breakable. Connor never loses because he never plays the game. Or he has, behind everyone's back, playing them instead. 

Zoe finds her car and fits the key with a bit more of the force that she usually would. She opens the driver's door and hops on, throwing her stuff into the backseat before slamming the door closed. The vibrations take a second to settle but the sensation of satisfaction, even if she was the only one who felt it, doesn't fade as fast. Closing her eyes and reclining in the seat is easy after she locks the door, humming to herself. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest and she is trying her best to relax, to ignore the annoyance and let it slip away, even if her fingers curl painfully against the skin on her elbows. Her phone it's somewhere in her bag and she doesn't want to reach it, doesn't know if she would rant about Connor to her friends, knowing it always quickly develops into her defending him somehow.

Was he different with Alana and Evan? He had to be. Zoe couldn't picture Evan, who seemed so easily spooked and jittery, staying with Connor after one of his outbursts. Or maybe he was too scared to leave, part of a cycle he couldn't break. Alana Beck, though. Was Connor a new project to the long list of accomplishment that followed her? She didn't seem like the type to bend, so why hasn't she snap yet, then? Zoe couldn't imagine what the three of them would even talk about. It didn't make sense. Was Connor using them? Was Connor being used? None of the above?

She jumps at the sound of a tap in the window at the other side of the car, Connor's ring resting over the glass. He is not looking at her, head facing someone she can't see, so she unlocks the car and fastens her seatbelt, eyes catching in the rear-view mirror. Alana and Evan are both already inside the car, the first putting on the seatbelt and the latter clutching at his backpack like a lifeline. Connor's bag thuds next to her, Connor's hand reaching to mess with her radio.

Hell no. 

“I’m driving, that means I get to pick the music.” Connor rolls his eyes but settle back on his seat. She finds a station she likes before backing up out of the parking lot.

“Excuse me, Zoe?” Alana chimes in, moving slightly forward. The seatbelt strains. “Would you mind leaving me at mine's first? I have a lot of work to do.”

“Aren't they coming over?” Connor shifts, shaking his head before pillowing it in his forearm, banging against the glass. “Were you planning on giving me the addresses or was I supposed to guess?” Zoe mutters, before looking back at Alana for a second, just to let her know she is speaking to her now, eyes on the road as she talks. “No, I don't mind. Mustn't be far since you bike to school.”

Alana doesn't honor that with a response, rattling her address and settling back into her seat instead. Evan doesn't offers his. She asks for her backpack and tosses it back at Connor, glancing at him and telling him to put the GPS, just in case.

The ride is not a quiet affair, with Alana speaking about a billion things, as if afraid of the awkwardness silence would bring. Evan chimes in, far and inbetween, keeping the conversation going with monosyllables alone. Connor is asleep, or pretending to be at her side. The mechanical voice of her  phone is guiding her, making her focus on it instead of wondering about the whole scenario, of the reason behind it all, of the things happening behind the curtain.

Goodbyes are exchanged, gratefulness is brushed off and soon enough, Alana and Evan are both walking the steps into the Beck's household, Zoe tapping her fingers against the steer wheel to the beat of a song she knows she has listen to before, but not recognizing it, waiting for them to enter the house so she can leave.

Two songs and the beginning chords of the third one welcome her into the driveway of her house, taking her phone and her bag before reaching to shake Connor's shoulder, making him jump and blink rapidly. She unfasten her seatbelt and it's in the middle of taking the keys when the passenger's door slams shut.  She yanks the keys and the door, marching towards her brother.

“You didn't get to make it a revolving door, but it was a fair try.” He opens the door and lets her through, just to slam the front door behind himself. “Would you stop?”

“With what?” The thud of a bag and Zoe follows the noise, finding the bag in the sofa without Connor to keep it company. 

“With all the slamming.” She raises her voice, not sure in which direction to move. She drops her bag next to his.

A slam from upstair.

“Very mature, Connor!” She takes the steps two a time, reaching the top floor easily. “You don't pay for that car, you know? If something breaks, I am the one that has to explain to mom and dad, so stop it!” Her door is closed but not locked, so she goes to their parent's door, trying the knob.

“Oh, like they would make  _ you _ pay for it!” The noise is muffled by the door. She tries the knob again.

“What's that supposed to mean?!” The third time is not the charm. She pounds on the door. “Open up! You aren't allowed to lock the doors, you know that!”

The door is thrown open. “I am not allowed to do anything in this house!” Zoe thinks for a second that Connor is gonna shoulder her to pass, but he simply ducks and walk towards his room, turning at the door frame. “And it means what it means, Zoe. If you are so smart, you figure it out.”

“Stop running away and explain!”

“Stop chasing me!”

Zoe is tempted to open her door and lock herself in, to let the anger cool down, to let it be sharp instead of a mess, but Connor is staring back at her, like all of this its her fault, like she is the one sneaking around, the one that somehow gets the better end of the deal. 

“Explain.”  _ Everything. _

“As if you don't know.” He moves, resting his weight against the wood, fingers curling into fits. “You get everything you want, you-”

“Do I?” A harsh laughter that feels a bit unhinged, the dam breaking. “You are the one that gets everyone doing what he wan-”

“Yeah, sure, I can see that. I  _ love  _ having no car and no door and nothing in this goddamn house.”

“You had! You had all those things and you just decided to not care and that's what happens. That's not my fault! You can't pin that on me! If I pulled half the shit you do-”

“But you wouldn't, right? Because perfect Zoe never does anything wrong. Me? On the other hand, I have our parents breathing down my neck all the da-”

“AT LEAST THEY PAY ATTENTION TO YOU!” Connor wavers on her vision and Zoe finds the knob of her door, twisting it until it opens.

“You call that attention?! They don't give a fuck about me, they just want the dirty laundry to stay at home! So now I am in the equivalent of house arrest.” He huffs before finally turning into his own room. Zoe follows. 

“And what did you expect? A clapping ovation?!” She doesn't get him. “You broke their trust, they are worried about you.”

“Are they? Are  _ you _ ? Cause mom told me that you weren't even looking for me, you know? How bad she felt about it. But you guys weren't expecting anything better, were you?” He is sitting in the bed, a bow before a shot, a too-wide smile.

“So prove us wrong, for heaven's sake!” He isn't even trying to make a case of himself. Forever the victim. Hands thrown in the air out of pure frustration. “Let mom know you have friends, for starters. Invite them over, I don't know.”

“Yeah, sure, that would be great. After all,you chased Evan like a hound when you got a sniff of me being friends with him. Were you going to warn him about me? Explain to him how bad, how much of a mess I am?!” He laughs, eyes cold. 

“What? No! Contrary to everyone's opinion in this house, my life doesn't revolve around you, Connor! Not everything I do has to do with you, or about, I don't know, what was it?, being the cautionary tale for any and all interactions with you?” She walks towards her room and fights the desire of slamming the door, too much of a mimic and an admission of defeat to follow through.

She does throw herself face first on the bed, kicking the mattress to suppress the screaming urge. He is impossible. The world is always against him. The misunderstood one. The one that gets away with being irresponsible because that's how he is. The 'he is trying to annoy you, Zoe, just ignore him’. The one that never has to be the bigger person even when he is the oldest. The introduction card she never asked for but that all teachers and classmates have.

Connor is staring at the ceiling when she walks back into his room, withering gaze throw at her entrance.

“And next time, let me know we are going on a detour, I am not your chauffeur!”

“You asked to give Evan a ride!”

“At the same time you did! I was the one driving, I would like some kind of warning before knowing I will have to take on an extra trip.”

“Fuck off, Zoe. Get out of my room!” Connor flips her and Zoe wants so much to go over there and smack the gesture away.

Instead, she walks backwards, without breaking eye contact, stopping outside room, less than a step away of the frame.

“Done!” The smile is edged, but she rocks on her heels, faked innocence laid thick.

“Really grown up of you.” He rolls on the bed, facing the wall instead of her. “Wow, the best response to that. Excellent. Brilliant.” Slow claps.

“Thank you, I learned from the best.” Zoe says drily. He won't ignore her today. “Not so fun when you are the one that has to put up with it, ah?” Her throat itches. “I don't even expect thanks from you, but the least you could do when someone does you a favor is not to be an asshole to them, you know?”

Connor sits up, shoulders hunched and head bowed, hand through his hair before he spins to face her. 

“Fucking hell, can you even be more starved for praise? Do you need recognition that badly? Thank you so much, Zoe, you are a fucking life savior, you didn't make that situation ten times more awkward by butting in at all, you didn't throw a tantrum in front of  _ my _ friends like a little brat. No, you? Never, mistakes only pass you by, don't they?” 

Zoe straightens, head held high, as if every instinct isn't telling her to duck, to make herself smaller, to not make him angrier. She swallows the breaking of her voice before speaking, willing it to steadiness.

“Oh, sorry, did I embarrassed you?” She blinks fast for the effect, it has nothing to do with the tears that keep trying to form. Zoe won't give him the satisfaction. “How do you think I feel when my classmates are gossiping about you, ah? When they come over, all fake concern and ask after you? What was it today? Ah, yeah, you defending my honor? Threatening people on my behalf or something like that.”

A step back. One, only one, because Connor is standing up, and the tilt of his lips and the frown of his face are familiar. Nothing to throw here. The books are downstairs. Just one step back.

“I couldn't care less about your reputation or whenever it needs defending.”  _ I couldn't care less about you.  _ “Not the whole world turns when you say so, okay? Sorry you have to deal with the shit people made up about  _ me. _ I don't even know how you managed to twist that to make it about  _ you. _ ” Connor is taller, towering and another step back. He raise his hand.

Connor has never hit her. Never. Zoe flinches, shrinking into herself, with panic alarms blaring so loud inside her head that she is paralyzed. The sound of dishes breaking echoes in her memory. Of wood caving in. Of plastic toys thudding against the walls, making dents.

A beat and she looks up, Connor's wide eyed stare, hand resting on the door frame. The logical part of her brain knew that, that there was no danger of  actual retaliation, but her hands come down from where they had shot up to protect her head. 

“I wasn't… I wasn't going to hurt you.” Barely a whisper, dripping with bafflement.

How dare he? There is no way he doesn't know. He can't possibly not know about it. Not when she has spent entire days hiding in her room due to it, her fingers cramming over the guitar's strings just to mute the shouts. It can't be that it doesn't cross his mind, because that would be unfair. He doesn't get to be clueless about this. No. He doesn't. It's not fair.

“Zoe, God, I wasn't going to hurt you. You have to believe me, I would never-” Connor is hunching, making himself smaller without even noticing, his other hand hovering over her shoulder as if he doesn't know what to do with her, as if he has forgotten how to comfort her. 

“I know.” Her voice trembles. She fucking hates it. Hates that she has to reassure him, now. To make sure he knows that she knows, even if her reaction makes a liar out of her.

He looks like a kicked puppy.

It's not fair.

“I need to go to my room.” 

He nods.

She goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope this chapter wasnt Ooc, i tried my best to stay true to what i think of this characters. I hope you guys liked it. Let me know if there are any mistakes!
> 
> [come and talk to me about whatever](https://notlongerfunny.tumblr.com/)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not hers to talk about and for once, she is going to keep her opinions to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully, now that is uni is done, I will be able to update this quicker! I still don't have a schedule for it, tho.

There is a knock on the door and Alana frowns, setting her books on the floor and reassuring Evan that it would take only a minute as she stands. She checks her phone as she walks out of the living room, confirming that hours passed by since Zoe dropped them at her house, hours since she had to go back to school to look for her bike because she hadn't forgotten about it, she had simply left it there so Zoe couldn't confirm the fact that she had biked to school and call her out, hours since she had convinced Evan to stay and help her with school work since she knew that his house would be empty and he would probably appreciate the company. 

It is early, even so, for her parents to be the ones at the door. They have keys, they don't need to knock unless they went shopping and they would have called her to help with the groceries if that was the case. Maybe it is a salesperson or someone who has gotten the wrong door. 

Alana peers through the curtains, as subtle as she can,in case it's someone who could have her at the door for too long when she has no time to waste. She sighs when she recognizes Connor sitting next to the door, hunched and playing with the strings of a hoodie that wasn't the same one he had brought to school today.

“It's Connor!” She knows her voice carries to the living room as she opens the door without looking back because she can hear the rustle of papers that means that Evan is getting up as well.

Connor looks up and Alana tries her best to keep her face from shifting. His movements are slow, so at least he is not in the paranoiac state, which would also explain why he chose to come over. She decides not to touch him, just in case. If he wants physical contact, he will look for it, and Alana knows enough now not to try and do anything reckless after he smokes. She moves from the door and waits until Connor is inside before closing it, nose scrunching behind his back at the smell, faded as it is.

“Evan is helping me with some school work,” She explains when she turns around, moving towards the kitchen. “We were thinking on having a break to eat something, do you want anything?”

“Sure.” 

“You can sit anywhere, I will fetch Evan and put my things away, be right back.” Alana waits until Connor nods before going back to the living room.

She can see Evan putting things away slowly and methodically, can see him hesitate before grabbing Alana's books and putting them on the coffee table. He doesn't jump or startles when Alana makes her presence known as she bends downs to help. She isn't sure if Evan has seen Connor high before, knows that Connor tends to avoid being seen when he is like that, especially to her after she lectured him on things she didn't know about, not matter the level of research she had done. Evan doesn't seem more cautious than usual, and she is dying to ask what he is thinking about, to prod and get her own doubts out loud, but she can read a room, even if she sometimes barrels through anyway, and speaking to Evan about this, with Connor alone in the kitchen, doesn't seem wise. It's not hers to talk about and for once, she is going to keep her opinions to herself.

Connor is sitting on the counter, looking at the post-it notes on the fridge with narrowed eyes, mouth moving as he reads without voicing anything. He blinks at them like Alana's cat tends to, legs halting from the swinging they were doing and producing a hollow noise as the heel of his boot hits the wooden door of the cupboard. 

“I was thinking pizza, but that would take a while so,” Alana has to stand on her tiptoes to reach the upper cabinets and the package falls on her when she tries to yank it,making her scream.

Evan's “Are you okay?” gets swallowed by Connor's laughter, loud even when he seems to be trying to muffled it with his hands when Alana glares at him. Evan's follows a second after, quieter as he seems to reassure himself that Alana is fine, picking the Pop-Tarts box as he does so. He is biting his lip when Alana takes it from him, but his shoulders are shaking with the residual laughter.

Alana excuses herself to make the pizza call a few minutes later, letting Evan in charge no matter how wide-eyed he looks at her. The order doesn't take long to be placed, but Alana doesn't go back to the kitchen, instead going through her contact list. She would be lying to herself if she said that she is not worried about Connor being high, especially after the car ride. Alana doesn't know if the tension had only increased after Zoe had dropped them at Alana's house, but she assumes that it did. Couldn't Zoe see that Alana had been trying to avoid this exact result? All Zoe had to do was leave Evan in Alana's care, but no, she had to press the issue even when Evan had seemed clearly distressed about the whole ordeal.  It looked less like a favor and more like she was trying to piss off her brother or to get Evan alone, which would make sense if the rumours of Zoe were true, but honestly, if Evan didn't want to talk to her, did she have to corner him like that? Alana had given her an out and Zoe had throw it at her face, exposing the fact that she had biked to school. So what? Did that mean she couldn't take Evan home or something? It was obvious that she had been trying to not make the issue bigger, with the way Connor had been looking at the interaction between his sister and Evan. 

Zoe is Connor's sister,though, and the cat is already out of the bag if Zoe has been tracking Evan down. She finds the name and decides it's better to text, feeling high strung enough as it is.

_ Hi, Zoe, it's Alana. Wanted to let you know that Connor is here, so you won't worry about it. _

Her phone buzzes when she already in the kitchen, looking down at the message before sitting down and joining the conversation, with Connor still perched on the counter as he eats and Evan standing next to him, eyeing the toaster as he talks.

_ k, thanks for letting me know _


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor has his boots on and Evan is sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got no one but myself to blame for the delay of this chapter, especially since it wasn't even a long one. Critical Role got me trapped and well.... 
> 
> Happy holidays to all!!!

Evan isn't quite sure why Connor decided to walk him home, especially when his own house is in the opposite direction. The evening is fading and the pace they have settle in is slow, Connor seemingly forgetting and walking ahead at times before letting himself fall back into it. Evan had tried to start a conversation as soon as they had left Alana's doorstep, rushing through topics in his head to quiet the silence with noise, but a glance in Connor's direction, the way he had been biting his lip and frowning, not looking back, had been enough to keep the words at bay. Now, Evan rearranges his backpack more than he needs to or drums his fingers against his thigh, anything to avoid the urge of filling the air with words, compromising with making any kind of sound.

He breathes and it rings too loud inside his own head, the action now forced into consciousness. His chest expand under the fabric of his shirt for a second before deflating, a repeated thing that he can't shake as he moves, trying to forget about it to make it instinct again.  

It takes an eternity and the snap of fingers to arrive at his own house. Connor doesn't say anything, swaying a beat too early to match Evan's keychain, the one with the little tree Heidi had bought for him to soften the blow about having to let himself in. The pretty reminder that no one would be there to welcome him home.

He unlocks the door although his hands are sweating, the task far more stress inducing when he has someone watching him do it. He is irrationally scared that this are somehow not the right keys, even as the door opens when he pushes. Evan turns to say goodbye, at the same time that Connor looks up, eyes determined.

“Can I come in?” It's a simple enough question, but Evan can tell the conversation that will follow if he says yes - It's obvious he won't say no- would be anything but.

Any other time, Evan is sure that he would have make the same decision, the ease in which his body move out of the way to let Connor enter would be the identical no matter the circumstances. The thing that would be different is the way his mind is completely blank instead of drowning with the thoughts about dirty dishes and presentation, of clothes left spread when leaving in the morning in a rush. It's easy to notice the halt in it, the choice his brain makes, zeroing in other worries that force calmness into his demeanor, with the way Connor is marching towards the sofa, shoulders set and back straight, as if he has come to some conclusion as well.

Evan goes to the kitchen, giving Connor and himself a minute. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Yeah, thanks. A glass of water it's fine.”

“Sure.”

Evan doesn't think it would be wise to go upstairs to leave his backpack, so he lays it on the kitchen counter, the one farthest from the sink, just in case. He pours two glasses of water, closing the fridge with his hip and walks into the living room, where Connor has already taken off his boots and is sitting cross legged on the sofa. Evan takes his shoes off and sits in the opposite side, facing Connor and giving him the glass, before letting his back rest against the armrest, busying himself with sipping water while he waits for Connor to talk.

Water sloshes onto his hand when Connor says, “You go to therapy, right?”

“Yeah, I do.” He told them this, after Alana admitted to have gone too a few years back. He doesn't think Connor is going to mock him for it, not even Jared does so, but he curls into himself just a bit, fearing what this might mean.

Connor nods, wringing his hand together before moving one to his hair, nervousness leaking through it.

A few minutes pass by and Evan isn't sure if he should ask, if he should prompt Connor to keep talking or if he should let him do this at his own pace. He risks it when Connor tenses, hands on his knees like he is ready to flee, like he already convinced himself this was the worst idea ever.

“Why are you asking?”

“It was stupid.”

“No, it wasn't,” Evan keeps the glass in his hand, to avoid showing off how unprepared he is to talk about this. He is going to talk about this anyway. “why are you asking me about therapy, Connor?”

Connor huffs and sets the glass of water on the floor and for a second, Evan thinks that this is it, he finally did it, he said the wrong thing and pushed too hard when he should have waited where it was safe. It's a second, with all the blaring and the blame, before Connor speaks.

“Mom took me once when I was younger,” The crack of a finger and Connor is pulling a face, eyes locked in his hand, but Evan thinks it's directed at the memory, not at the sound. “Thought that it would help or something, but it took her, like, three sessions with me always throwing a tantrum before and after because I didn't want to go for her to finally let it go. To finally give up, I guess. And that made me mad too, which is like, fucking stupid, you know?” Connor shakes his head and another crack, a disbelieving laugh escaping him. “I mean, I got what I wanted but, I don't know, I was pissed at her for it either way. I lashed out more often before, which I know it's not saying much, but it got easier to stop doing once they stop trying to keep up with me.” He clears his throat, once, twice, before continuing. “But it's so stupid, I just, ugh, like, Alana said it worked, but come on, it's Alana, of course it worked for her. Not that I am trying to say that it wasn't hard for her, because she would straight up kill me if I even hinted at that, but like, let's be honest here, Alana can do whatever she sets her mind to.” There is a bit of a smile in Connor's lip, but it's gone when he barrels on with, “You are going to therapy, right? Like, it's an ongoing thing?”

Evan nods, averting his eyes when Connor look in his direction. “Does it actually helps?”

“Sometimes,” He is not the right person for this, but he is the one being asked, the one Connor is looking at for answers. “It makes the world less.”

He cringes at his own words, sipping at the water to buy himself more time, to find a way to articulate the ideas in his brain.

“Less?” Connor sounds confused and Evan forces himself to look back, to face this as it should be faced. “Less what?”

“Loud, judgy, vigilant or plain scary.” Evan laughs, because what else can he do? “Sometimes, it make it less hard.” He can do this, he has to do this. “I felt like it didn't work, it still does from time to time, but I also know it would be worse if I hadn't gone. At the beginning I was doing it because my mom told me to, and she looked like she needed it more than I did, so it was like I owe it to her to at least try, and to be honest, I was kinda expecting this would make my mom stop trying to make me go, marking it as the failure that would seal the deal somehow.” He puts the glass on the floor, remembering to keep his breathing in check. “It's a strange thing, when you get told that what you have has a name and that you can deal with it, that you are not alone, that you were missing tools instead of will. I know I am not making much sense, but what I am trying to say it's that I started because of my mom, but I would have asked her to stop if I kept that up. Going to therapy would have been hell if I was doing it for her sake only, you know? My progress would be based on what she could see and it's hard to see it as it is, I wouldn't have been able to take it if I wasn't doing it for my sake too, for the idea that I deserve to somehow not feel like crap everyday, that enduring an hour in front of someone who I know is analyzing all I say doesn't feel so much like the wrong step to take. It gives a strange sense of validation to have someone with the experience and the means, someone that doesn't think you are faking it like your mind does, say that you are right.”

The silence that follow is charged and Evan wants to reach for the glass of water, his throat gone dry after all that he said, all that feels like it wasn't enough for whatever Connor was expecting. He doesn't know if it has anything to do with Connor getting high and stumbling towards Alana's instead of his own house, if it has anything to with the tension back in the car, if it has anything to with Jared or with what he said to Connor at lunch. There are too many possibilities and too many outcomes, but he was as honest as he could be. Connor is not watching him, but he feels exposed, too seen, flayed, like he had rambled for hours about something he liked to Jared just to notice the other boy had been in his phone. It's a foolish endeavors, to keep trying and trying to be better that the mess he already is. Which right does he has to lecture people in mental health? He skips taking his medicine for time to time as it is, not because he forgets but because he doesn't want to think about the fact that he is too sick to act like a normal human being. What was he thinking?

“So,” Connor has his boots on and Evan is sorry. “Yeah, I, thanks.” His fingers don't crack but he keeps pressuring them to do so as he stands up. “Fuck, I might actually do this. What the fuck?” It's a whisper, like he is talking to himself, but the house is quiet and Evan way too aware of details to miss it. “Can I, like, text you or something about it?”

“About therapy?”

“Yeah, about that.” The glass of water is in his hand, full to the rim. “I don't think it would work, but, fuck, I might give it a try. To at least take it off the list or whatever.”

“That's fair.” Evan says, voice low enough that he isn't sure Connor heard it.

Evan takes his own glass and Connor's when he passes it on, moving to the kitchen to put them in the dishwasher, ideas tangling as he goes.

“See you tomorrow, Evan.”

There is the click of the door when it closes and nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could you guys tell that I have no idea how to speak? Great, sure it shows in the way I write. Hope you guys enjoy it!!!!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are so many ppl in my house, too many. Writing is near impossible. I am trying, folks, I swear I am.
> 
> Trigger warnings at the end of the chapter.

Connor isn't sure what time it is or how long has he been staring at Zoe's closed door for, but even he can tell that he is pushing the creepy vibe at this point. He doesn't know what he would say, either way, if Zoe did wake up in the middle of the night, if she walked up to his room and demanded they talked. He has many things he wants to say, between apologies and justifications, but the words would lodge in his throat, they would fall short or be the wrong ones, and Zoe would sigh, the same sigh his mom and dad have trademarked at this point, with the shoulders lowering and the slight shake of head, the one that rekt of disappointment and defeat. Never of surprise, though, because everyone knew that if there was any kind of reliability to his character, it was directed towards the fact that he would always fail whatever expectations, however brief, anyone ever had in him. Or maybe it's stupid to even worry, because the most likely possibility, if Zoe did wake up, would be that she would ignore him completely.

He is not sure why that sounds like it would hurt more, when it's the modus operandi of their life.

The bed bounces as he stands up, eyes grown accustomed to the lack of light, with music playing in his ears. The floor is cold under his bare feet and he debates for a second whenever to wrap himself in the blanket to make the small trek to the bathroom.

He used to do that when he was younger, a makeshift cape to protect him of the monsters while he ran to his parents’ room, scared to death that his nightmares would become real in the seconds it took to open the door. His mom used to be the first one to wake up, shaking his dad awake while assuring Connor that everything was fine. His dad used to compliment him, every single time, about being brave enough to wander the hallways without any light on and asked him how he did it without tripping. They always let him worm his way between them and hug him until he fell asleep. They were always gone when he woke up, but the curtains used to be open to let him know it was daytime and he was safe.

He doesn't take the blanket.

The hallway is dark, no light seeping from any of the room upstairs, and he can make the silhouettes of paintings and photos framing the walls. It's one of the only places his mom's urges for changes and new styles hadn't creeped in, so there were no new shelves, no new vases or coat racks to watch for. He itches to reach for his phone and turn on the flashlight, even so, fear clutching his heart and making it beat faster that he thinks the situation warrants for. 

It doesn't slow down once he reaches the door, the howling of the wind overtaking the sound in his ears and making clunch the doorknob tighter. Opening the door takes a bit more effort that he was expecting, having to shoulder it to avoid it from slamming shut, air pushing against him. The door bangs for a second when he is trying his best to close it without making much noise, cursing under his breath and wishing he could reach the small window that is letting the air in. 

He sighs when it shuts with a click the second time.

The light is harsh and blinding when he turns it on, making colors dance in front of his face, darkening to black spots in his vision after he blinks a few times. He takes the earphones off and lets the tangled cord and the cracked screen of his cellphone rest on the shelf, next to shaving creams and a box full of bandaids. He moves towards the shower and closes the window, the sound hollow without the music there to cover it up.

Connor is not entirely sure why he decided to move out of his room, just that he needed to. He is not sure why he didn't go to the kitchen, where he could have gotten something to eat, even if he wasn't hungry. It would be more productive, or at least distracting, that splashing freezing cold water on his face to wake him up when he was already awake. 

It's so fucking stupid that he is still here. 

He shouldn't be.

He had planned that he wouldn't be.

He wants to break the mirror because it shows that he exists. Pale and gaugy and so fucking sick looking, like always. His hair is tangled and there are a few strands that are wet, dripping into the sink. He can see the threadbare shirt and himself underneath, can see the shape of his torso and the way his breathing it's becoming more of an staccato with each passing second. He has too much of a shape, he is too present, he exists and he hates it. He could probably see his own veins if he concentrated it enough but he can't, eyes shifting around his face, his neck, his arms. His nail polish is chipped and his nails are short, bitten and ugly. The sound of his breathing is echoing in the bathroom, so loud and sharp. The tiles are frozen cold but they are forgotten because he can see his eyes, muddy brown. He can see his hair, like wire. He can see all the edges in his features, of the spots marks in his face that he never took care of, no matter how much his mom pushed him to at least give it a try. He can see too much of himself. He is human, he is more than a concept and he is crying. He didn't realized he was, but that would explain the sobs and the aches and the blurriness. There are coughs wrecking his body, making him shake. How could he not? He is thin as paper. His hands are yanking at his hair, once, twice, looking to anchor him through pain because, when has he known how to bring himself back without it? He reaches the toilet and half cares for his hair before throwing up, barely breathing through the snot. He can't hear the dull sound of his knees hitting the ground, but he is kneeling as he vomits, so he must have done that step somewhere along the way. His throat is burning, his stomach contracts in pain as he tries to keep it at it, to let it all out,  and his heartbeat deafening, shallowing all that he cannot. 

Connor is sweating when his back protests the position he is in, forcing him to arrange his limbs in the enclosed space. He stretches to flush without looking inside, the smell catching him and making gag, before he lets his back rest against the opposite wall, legs bended in front of him. His eyes stings, his mouth taste stale and he is cold. He doesn't think he has the strength or the energy to stumble downstairs for a glass of water, doesn't think he would make it all the way up to his room if he tried. He wants to lay down on the tiles, no matter how disgusting it is, because his skin feels like is burning. There are red marks from his wrist to the inside of his elbow. Logically, he can say he must have scratch his arm but he has no memory of doing so. The evidence is there, though, and Connor doesn't know what to do now. It will fade, at least, and his parents won't realize, Zoe won't realize. 

Fuck.

Can he get more pathetic? He wants to laugh so he won't keep crying, but the noise gets stuck halfway through, coming out as a strangled mix between the two. It echoes, amplified, like everything in his life. How can Zoe be scared of him when he is this level of disgusting, of weak? 

But he knows the answer to that one. He has known the answer to that one for a long time now. He had never seen it happen when he was lucid, sober enough to see Zoe flinching, making herself small. Connor knew she hadn't lie when she had said that she knew he would never hit her, but he also knew that he wouldn't stop to consider her being collateral damage in one of his outbursts. He would throw whatever was nearer, he would scream and she would scream back, louder, but she would be tense, a shield ready to rebuke the blow and sent it back, but not the first one to go for it.

This is why he didn't deserve to be alive. Everyone's life would be so much better without him in it, so much easier and calm and not waiting for the other shoe to drop all the time. He would never stop being angry, he would never be more that what he was and what he was, simply wasn't enough. His mom had tried, hadn't she? She had failed, not because of her, but because of him. 

Had he even tried?

Fuck, had he? 

Had everyone give up on him or had he given up on himself?

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He had screamed harder, try to explain, to make them understand while knowing for sure that they wouldn't. Had he given up on them? 

Did it count as giving it a try when he had doomed it from the start?

He is probably pretending, right? He would go to the therapist and they would tell his parents that all Connor had was a problematic attitude. It wasn't real, all the missing pieces inside of him, he had probably stolen them to cry wolf, to not take the blame. 

Connor doesn't look at the mirror when he stands up, shaky legs nearly buckling before he reaches the sink. He keeps his eyes averted, focused on the faucet and not in the shaking of his hands. He rinses his mouth and splashes water on his face. He opens the door and turns off the lights. Closes it and hesitates in the dark, eyes not adjusted to it. 

He stumbles and catches himself on the wall. Breathes and goes to his room, pace slow.

Maybe it can be a last effort. He might owe it to himself at this point, to understand why, to figure himself out. He knows he owes it to everyone else, but he never expected to be one of the people on that list. 

He drags the blanket off his bed, drapes it around his shoulders. 

It can't hurt, right? 

He knocks on his parent's door before turning the knob. His dad wakes up first and shakes his mom awake.

There is no way he deserve another chance.

Maybe is not about deserving.

“Connor?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: Self-harm done without realizing. Suicide contemplation, even when its not directly stated. Mental breakdown. 
> 
> I really dont know what else, but pls let me know and I will edit the warning in case its needed.


End file.
